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<title>isaiah was too emotional by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093091">isaiah was too emotional</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/bigender%20dean%20winchester'>bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(there's two of em), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Heart, Gen, Original Transgender Characters, Parental death tw, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 01, a lot of talking but nothing getting done, i just think that dean should have a friend!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 03:27:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/bigender%20dean%20winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stays silent a moment, and reaches out to put a hand on Taliya's shoulder. She jumps a little, but relaxes into the touch after a moment. “I won’t,” Dean reassures her.<br/>She takes a long drag off the cigarette. “It’s fucking stupid,” she says, anger staining her words. “All my prophecy and I didn’t have the common sense not to— not to go rushing in and fuck everything up.”</p><p>---</p><p>currently in the process of majorly reworking this fic so. i wouldn't recommend reading it right now haha</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. royal lady! omnipotent lady!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The major character death tag doesn't apply to this chapter, but it will be relevant for most of the rest of the story. There's a lot of discussion of death in general, but you will definitely be forewarned when the death does come.</p><p>The title comes from red doc &gt;, by Anne Carson</p><p>(also, if you can note any of the ~classical literature~ references in this, comment them and i will fall deeply in love with you)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>"he says you can see the future you're a prophet / no I see Seeing I am the god of this I see Seeing coming"<br/>
</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>- </em>Anne Carson, <em>red doc &gt;</em></p>
</blockquote><p>Dean is investigating something different this week. Dad is off on a mission of his own, and Dean’s flying solo<span>, travelling all the way up to Denmark, Maine to look into</span> a woman who can supposedly see the future. Some people have reported her as being sent by god, but Dean’s not so sure. she could be a demon of some sort, sent to cause trouble. There’s also been reports of ghost sightings in the area. Dean isn’t quite sure if they’re connected, but he’s seen this woman’s picture in the papers and she looks haunting.</p><p>He pulls into the sleepy town and instantly shuts off his music. He feels like everyone’s looking at him, craning their necks to look in the windows. He checks into a tiny motel off the main street and goes out to ask around about this so called “prophet”. </p><p>From what he hears, she lives in the manor that looms above the town. She first got her fame predicting small things: a storm, a house burning down. </p><p>Eventually she predicted the death of the owner of the manor. He died a month afterwards, on the exact date she predicted.</p><p>It’s creepy, but he’s seen worse, so he gets back into the Impala and drives up to the manor. It’s huge and gated, and there’s a tall man standing guard by the gate. Dean gets out of the car to talk to him. </p><p>“Can’t come in,” the man says. He’s clearly trying to sound tougher than he is. Dean rolls his eyes.</p><p>“I’m with the press,” he lies smoothly. “Here to interview the prophet. I called ahead, did they not notify you?”</p><p>The guard glares. “There’s no phone in the house. And we aren’t open to the press.”</p><p>Dean looks in his wallet, finds a couple hundred dollar bills, holds them out to the guard. “Will this change your mind?”</p><p>The guard looks at the sum (only about 350) and frowns, like he’s calculating the worth. After a moment he says, “How about I call Miss Filippov down. And if she wants an interview, you can have it.”</p><p>Dean sighs. “Sure.” </p><p>Even if he doesn’t get an interview, at least he’ll be able to feel out the situation, try to understand what exactly he’s dealing with. </p><p>The guard leaves and comes back a few minutes later, a young man and woman in tow. The young man is large, but not in a threatening way. He looks almost soft compared to the woman next to him. She’s the prophet, Dean knows. The two look like they could be siblings— their skin is the same soft brown, their hair the same almost-black, and their noses look crooked in the same way. Besides, she leans on the young man like he’s the only thing keeping her upright.</p><p>When she gets closer Dean notices her eyes are dull and unfocused, with a sort of cloudy sheen over them, and her curly hair is streaked through with grey, even though the picture in the paper showed much darker hair, like she’s aged fifty years in just a few weeks. Despite that, she’s still remarkably beautiful.</p><p>The guard looks to the young man. “Will she do the interview?” he prompts. The young woman turns to look at him. </p><p>“I will,” she says. Her voice is low and scratchy, like she hasn’t spoken in a while. </p><p>The guard scoffs and says, “Alice wants you back before dinner,” before he walks away.</p><p>The young woman holds her hand out. “I’m Taliya,” she says, “And this is Harry.”</p><p>Dean shakes her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Andrew M-”</p><p>Taliya cuts him off. “No, you’re not,” she says. “You’re here to investigate me, right?” There’s a hint of an accent in her voice, but Dean can’t place if it’s just east coast oddness or something foreign. </p><p>Dean takes a step back. “Well, I’m here to interview you—”</p><p>She laughs. “You can’t lie to me,” she says. “Really, don’t try. I can tell.” She pauses, and then adds, “Walk with me.”</p><p>Dean agrees, and they start walking down the road he drove up. Taliya unfolds a long white cane and trails it from side to side on the gound in front of her. </p><p>He starts asking a few questions— what’s her name, what does she like to do— to keep up with his cover story, and at every question she flinches. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asks finally, after she winces for the third time, when he asks how long she’s lived here.</p><p>She looks over at him, eyes still blank. they don’t quite meet his. “I don’t like being compelled,” she says. Her companion looks over at him. <em> his </em> eyes are sharp, bright. Like he’s seeing <em> for </em> her. </p><p>“Compelled?”</p><p>She stops walking. “Let’s sit,” she says, and they walk over to a bench that Dean isn’t sure was there before. She folds the cane up and sits down. </p><p>Her companion stays standing behind her, and Dean wonders if maybe the two of them are going to kill him out here in the woods. He should have brought a gun, a knife, anything. His dad would be furious with him for his lack of foresight, which, considering Taliya’s abilities, would be pretty ironic.</p><p>But she just crosses her legs and turns around a little. “Can you say something,” she says, “So I know where you are?”</p><p>“Anything?”</p><p>She laughs a little, and turns to face him. “Thank you. Could you tell me your real name now? It just makes it easier.”</p><p>Dean laughs a little. “Real name? I’m not sure what you mean.”</p><p>Her eyes flash. “I told you, you can’t lie to me. Same reason I can’t lie to you.”</p><p>“You can’t lie to me?”</p><p>Her companion stands up straighter at that. He frowns and says, “Taliya, you don’t have to-”</p><p>But, as if compelled, Taliya stares straight at him and says, “No. I can’t lie to anyone. Trust me, I’ve tried.”</p><p>Her companion glares at dean. </p><p>Taliya laces her fingers through each other, cracks her knuckles loudly. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me why you’re here.” She says. Despite her thin frame and shaky demeanor, Dean’s certain that she’s the one to watch out for, not her larger companion. </p><p>Dean clears his throat. “I’m here to learn more about you,” he says, now conscious to not tell a lie. She has to have some trick, some way to hear a lie in someone’s voice, since she certainly can’t <em> see </em> it. </p><p>She nods. “You- huh. You’ve got a big storm coming for you, uh—”</p><p>“Dean,” he supplies instantly. He wonders for a moment if he’s being compelled, if she’s more powerful than he originally thought. But then she sort of folds over, leans on the bench. Dean can see her hand shaking a little. </p><p>“Dean,” she says, like she’s feeling the name out. “<em>Dean</em>. Thank you, Dean.”</p><p>“What do you mean, I’ve got a big storm coming?” he demands.</p><p>She frowns. “It’s not pretty. Look, you came here because you wanted to know more about <em> me </em>, not the other way around. I’ll be dead before your future comes, anyway.”</p><p>“How do you know?” Dean asks cautiously. </p><p>“I can see the future,” she replies easily. </p><p>“How does that work?”</p><p>A tree creaks in the forest. Dean turns around sharply. Taliya laughs a little, softly. “I have nightmares,” she says quietly. Her voice is still low, and a little raspy. Dean finds himself mesmerized by it, by the easy rhythm her words seem to have. She continues, “Or— at first they were just nightmares. It started a few years ago. My—” she looks up to her companion— “<em>our </em> best friend, I had this nightmare where he got sick. And we all laughed about it, because I had nightmares all the time. And then he really got sick.</p><p>“That was the first one, the first prophecy. And then they kept coming. I kept seeing flashes, at first. They got clearer, later on, and soon i could see whole hours, days worth of time, condensed into my dreams. These days i barely get any real sleep. I just... dream.”</p><p>She talks slowly, like every word is chosen specifically. Dean wonders if she’s been to college or just reads too much. Sam would love talking to her, he thinks.</p><p>But Sam’s not here, Sam’s gone for good, and Dean has to figure out what’s going on in this town alone.. </p><p>“You know,” he says casually, “some people in town, they think you were sent by God.”</p><p>Taliya laughs humorlessly. “Oh yes,” she says, “they <em> think </em> that. They’re dead wrong. You know that, don’t you?” </p><p>Dean nods, then remembers she can’t see him. “Yes.”</p><p>Her companion shifts behind her, puts a hand on her shoulder. “Taliya, it’s almost six,” he says quietly. “we gotta head back.”  </p><p>Taliya stands up, pulls her jacket a little tighter around her thin frame. “You’ll be in town for a while?” she asks Dean. Or— it’s not a question, because she adds, “I’ll talk to you again. Meet me at the manor tomorrow at three pm. And <em> don’t </em> be late.”</p><p>Dean nods. He watches as the two make their way back up to the mansion, Taliya leaning on Harry the whole way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i am more dreadful than the water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The action starts to pick up here! The warning for major character death becomes relevant in this chapter, although there's no death yet.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>"She would have drowned herself long ago, if she had not me; that's the truth."</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>- </em>Fyodor Dostoevsky,<em> The Idiot</em></p>
</blockquote><p>Dean wanders around town for a little, finds a place to eat dinner, a little mom and pop diner, where a group of five teenagers stare unashamed at him while he eats his dinner. He flips them off and one of them falls out of the booth giggling. </p><p>He’s walking back to the motel, less than a five minute walk, when a slight blond man bumps into him. The man is so thin he can feel the outline of his bones through the many layers he’s wearing. </p><p>“Sorry,” the man says. Dean gets a better look at him, and he’s younger than he first thought, maybe early twenties. His voice is high, almost reedy. He’s <em> tiny </em>, too, probably barely scraping 5’6”. Dean takes a step back.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asks. </p><p>The man, who is basically still a kid by Dean’s standards, blinks. “Oh,” he says, “you’re that guy who’s stalking Taliya.”</p><p>Dean scoffs. “I’m not stalking her. She <em> agreed </em> to do an interview.”</p><p>The kid glares. “Some things aren’t meant to be uncovered. Some things have to stay buried.”</p><p>“Does everyone here talk like that?”</p><p>The kid laughs abruptly. “No,” he says, “just everyone up in the manor.”</p><p>“You live in the manor?”</p><p>“It was my father’s home, before he died.” he says. That means he’s the surviving son, Dean figures. </p><p>He tilts his head. “So Taliya predicted your father’s death?”</p><p>The young man nods. “She’s predicted my death, too.” He sounds a little scared at that, his voice picking up in pitch, his left hand shaking by his side. Dean frowns.</p><p>“How do you die?” he asks.</p><p>Cold blue eyes look up to meet his. “She won’t tell me,” the kid says.</p><p>“Can’t you just ask? She’s compelled to tell the truth, right?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t do that to her.” the kid says, and glares at Dean. After a moment, Dean keeps walking. The kid continues in the opposite direction.</p><p>This town is weird, Dean decides, and sighs. He’s going to have to do a lot more digging to find out what’s really going on here.</p><p>-</p><p>Three o’clock comes around and Dean drives up to the mansion, keeping his music turned down low. The blond man from earlier is standing there, Taliya holding onto his arm. She’s dressed differently today, wearing a thick cable knit sweater over cargo pants and combat boots. The young man wears the leather jacket Taliya was wearing yesterday over a thin t-shirt and jeans. Now that Dean’s got a better look at them, he notices the way he leans into Taliya as much as she leans into him. </p><p>“Good to see you again,” he says. Taliya looks up towards his face blankly. </p><p>She nods. “You too. I think you should take us on a drive today.” There’s something in her voice that makes it a hard offer to refuse, and Dean checks himself to make sure he’s not being compelled. </p><p>He’s not, which is even more concerning than if he were. There must be something in Taliya’s voice, then, in the low rhythm of her sentences, in the way she takes charge, something that makes him want to listen to her. He agrees, and helps her into the car, before getting in the drivers seat. The young man sits in the back, behind him. </p><p>“So, where are we going?” he asks Taliya. It’s become clear to him that she’s in charge now, at least while he’s interrogating her. </p><p>Taliya looks forward. “Just start driving,” she says, “you get to do this all the time. Me and Lev here, we don’t ever leave the manor.”</p><p>“You don’t <em> ever </em> leave?”</p><p>Taliya shakes her head. Her hair smells like flowers, Dean thinks. He wonders if it’s perfume or shampoo. “We only go down to town to get food. And even then, that’s barely once a month.”</p><p>The young man - Lev - tilts his head. “Less, now that my father’s dead. We aren’t supposed to leave at all.”</p><p>“Seems unfair,” Dean comments. Lev and Taliya both laugh. </p><p>“Oh yes,” Taliya says. “It’s smothering.”</p><p>Lev nods. “We’re sick of it.”</p><p>They keep driving. Dean turns to Taliya and asks, “where am I supposed to stop?”</p><p>She frowns. “I'm hungry,”</p><p>Lev agrees. Dean finds a diner to stop at, and the three of them make their way inside, Lev guiding Taliya to a corner booth. </p><p>A young woman comes up to take their orders. Dean orders a burger. Lev looks down at the menu and frowns. “Can I get a chicken sandwich?” The waitress nods, and then turns to Taliya.</p><p>“What can I get you, sweetie?” she asks. Taliya looks up blankly. </p><p>Lev supplies, “she’ll have the same as me.” Taliya nods and smiles. </p><p>When the waitress leaves, Dean leans a little closer to ask Taliya, “does he always order for you?”</p><p>She laughs a little, sharply. “Only now that I can’t read the menu.”</p><p>Dean laughs. Lev doesn’t. </p><p>Taliya reaches out for her glass of water. When she reaches it, she frowns. “it’s warm,” she stage whispers to Dean. </p><p>Dean laughs again. “You want to complain?”</p><p>“Of course not!” she says, her voice light. “Just cause I’m rich doesn’t mean I’m spoiled!”</p><p>Dean raises his eyebrows. “You’re rich?”</p><p>Taliya looks incredulous. “did you not get that from the mansion we live in?”</p><p>Dean thinks about that for a second. “you don’t seem rich,” he says. </p><p>Lev meets his eyes. “Our parents don’t like sharing their wealth,” he says softly. There’s something in his voice again, something low and dark. It’s strange, against his thin high voice. </p><p>Taliya tilts her glass forward and back, clinking it against the table. “Besides,” she says, “we’re humbled by our experiences.”</p><p>“What experiences?”</p><p>Lev looks over at Taliya. She leans into him a little. It’s like they’re sharing a secret, Dean thinks, one that runs deeper than he’d understand. Taliya says, “Well, my mother died when I was young. Lev’s father died recently. Besides, we’re kind of the black sheep of our families.”</p><p>Taliya says it so casually, brings death into the room with barely a second thought. It brings Dean to a halt, though, and he turns his head away from her. Lev raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Dean is grateful for that, in a small way.</p><p>After he regains his composure, Dean asks, “Did you tell your family about your visions?”</p><p>Taliya frowns. “Yes,” she says, her voice a little raspy. “Or I <em> tried </em> to tell them, but they didn’t believe me. I tried to warn everyone, I really did. No one believed me except Lev and Harry.”</p><p>Lev puts his hands on the table in front of him. “Why do you want to know all of this stuff?” he demands, his voice getting a little lower. </p><p>Dean leans back in his seat. “I'm just curious,” he says, keeping his voice light. Taliya <em> tsk </em>-s derisively.</p><p>Lev raises an eyebrow. “why do you lie so much?”</p><p>“Easier than telling the truth.”</p><p>Taliya leans forward, putting her arm on her knee. “Is it really? Don’t you get tired of keeping track of it all?”</p><p>“I don’t keep track.”</p><p>Taliya laughs at that, a soft melodic sound. Like water rushing over stones. “Doesn’t that hurt?”</p><p>Dean stops to think about that. “what do you mean?”</p><p>She turns her face upwards. “you’ve hidden all of yourself away. Everything you care about, every private thought, you’ve never shared any of it. Does it <em> hurt </em>?”</p><p>Dean supposes it does. He doesn’t tell Taliya that. He just watches her as she sits back, almost... Exhausted. Like asking those questions took it out of her. She folds herself into Lev. </p><p>Dean drives them back up to the manor, turning his music on and keeping the volume low. Taliya hums along quietly, a welcome sound. She still looks tired, like she’s carrying a very heavy weight. </p><p>When he makes it back to the motel, he tries to do some research on people who can see the future. The search comes up mostly empty. He falls asleep and dreams distorted heavy dreams, ones that he can’t remember when he wakes up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. all white all the time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a brief mention of homophobic/transphobic ideas at the end of this chaper with Dean's reaction to a gender non conforming man. This doesn't represent my own ideas on gender nonconformity, and it shouldn't represent yours either &lt;3<br/>Other than that, this chapter has a pretty big discussion of death in general, so if that's gonna bother you, this fic probably isn't for you</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em> "Words can kill he says with his mouth full. Look at Oedipus. G looks at the CMO. You're saying Lucky Charms carry an ancestral curse. The CMO wipes his lips with a napkin. I'm saying if the army is issuing your Luck in the form of Charms it's already </em> <em>gone"</em></p>
  <p>- Anne Carson, <em>red doc &gt; </em></p>
</blockquote><p>He picks Taliya up from just outside the manor at three again, drives aimlessly around town before stopping in a run down park. Taliya sits in the front seat until he opens the door to help her out. She’s alone today, neither of her companions with her, and Dean can tell how much more unsteady she is without them. </p><p>She’s wearing a ratty old band t-shirt and too-big jeans under the same leather jacket she wore the first time Dean saw her. She’s wearing a knitted kerchief over her bangs, and her hair hangs in braided ponytails. </p><p>“No friends today?” he asks lightly. She looks up to him.</p><p>“I asked them not to come.” Her voice is lower than usual, a little nasal, like she’s been crying. Dean looks down at her and sees that she <em> has </em>. Her eyes are red-rimmed.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>She sighs. “Would you be?” </p><p>Dean brushes her hand with the back of his, and she wraps her hand around his arm. Walking together, they find a bench in a secluded area to sit down. Taliya digs around in her jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes— marlboro reds, Dean notes. “D’you smoke?” she asks, offering him one. </p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p>She clicks her tongue and lights the cigarette. Dean gets a look at the lighter, a cheap looking thing, covered in a flame design. She flicks it three times in quick succession after. </p><p>Dean leans back against the bench. “So what’s wrong?”</p><p>Taliya laughs. “I'm going to die,” she says quietly. Her voice is rough. “And— Lev is going to die too, I'm going to kill him. I— all this time I was trying to do the right thing and I... I failed.”</p><p>“You know this?”</p><p>She snaps, “of course I know. I can’t <em> not </em> know.” She takes a drag, and then adds, “Sorry. Just... I’m miserable about this. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want him to die.”</p><p>Her voice is still rough, but it sounds so small now, made smaller by fear. Dean turns to her. “So why are you going to kill him?”</p><p>He trains his eyes on her. She closes her eyes and says, “I killed his father. I... It was the right thing to do, but I didn’t think about the consequences. He’s... He trusts me, Dean. I failed him.”</p><p>“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks. Taliya takes another drag, blows the smoke towards Dean. </p><p>“Why do you think?” she replies. Her voice gets sharper in her anger, her accent more pronounced. Dean notes it again, tries to figure out where it’s from. It’s different from the typical New England accents he hears from most of the people in town. Taliya’s further off from it, with this accent that colors her voice in anger. Maybe it’s just foreign, he figures, but he’s still unsure.</p><p>Taliya continues, “Lev’s father was a bad person. He did unspeakable things, Dean. I— it makes me sick to think about it. And I— I watched Lev collapse into himself, watched him go through every day afraid and in pain and I had to do <em> something </em>.”</p><p>She sort of folds in on herself after that, wraps her jacket tighter around herself and puts one foot up on the bench. “Fuck,” she mutters. “Don’t tell Lev. <em> Please </em>.”</p><p>Dean stays silent a moment, and reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. She jumps a little, but relaxes into the touch after a moment. “I won’t,” Dean reassures her. </p><p>She takes a long drag off the cigarette. “It’s fucking stupid,” she says, anger staining her words. “All my prophecy and I didn’t have the common sense not to— not to go rushing in and fuck everything up.”</p><p>“But you can’t change the future, right?” Dean asks. She scoffs.</p><p>“Of course not,” she says, “but— just the act of looking into the future changes it. You know the story of Oedipus?”</p><p>“Vaguely.”</p><p>“Right. Well, his parents heard a prophecy that he was going to kill his father. So they put him on a mountainside and let him die. But he didn’t die. And, as karmic justice, for trying to alter fate, or for killing their son, the prophecy <em> changed </em> . When Oedipus asked the oracle at Delphi about his future, he wasn’t <em> just </em> going to kill his father, he was going to sleep with his mother <em> as well </em>.</p><p>“And then it keeps going: Oedipus tries to avoid his fate and just gets himself more stuck in it. <em> Because </em> he looked at the future. It’s a curse, to know your own future.”</p><p>Dean looks over at her. Her face is turned away from him, and she’s blowing smoke off into the air. “Like looking in the back of the book?” he asks.</p><p>Taliya turns back to him, half-smiling. “Yeah,” she says, “like that. Ruins the whole experience.”</p><p>They’re silent for a long time. Taliya stubs out her cigarette and crushes it with her combat boot. Eventually she sighs and puts her other foot on the bench too. “it isn’t fair,” she says softly. “I shouldn’t be punished for doing the right thing.”</p><p>“<em> Did </em> you do the right thing?”</p><p>Taliya’s eyes flash. “Yes,” she insists, her voice low, getting scratchy again. “You have a brother, right?” she asks.</p><p>Dean agrees without thinking, and then realizes that he’s never told her about Sam. It’s a little frightening, he thinks, but Taliya’s voice is soft and she doesn’t sound threatening. </p><p>“And if someone was hurting your brother, you’d make them stop, right?”</p><p>Dean knows where she’s going with this, but he agrees with her.</p><p>She leans in closer. “And if you couldn’t stop them peaceably, you’d kill them, right? Not because you’re a bad person, but because you’re a <em> good </em> person. You’d do anything for your brother. There’s nothing bad about that.”</p><p>Dean sighs. “It’s not that simple,” he says. “It’s wrong to kill someone. I’d do it anyway because he’s my brother.”</p><p>Taliya raises an eyebrow. “It’s right to stop bad people,” she argues, getting more animated. “It’s right to protect good people.”</p><p>“Fine,” Dean concedes, “but I'd kill for Sammy even if he was a bad person.”</p><p>Taliya smiles and stands up. As Dean guides her back to the car, she says, “but you’d do it out of love. It’s holy, to love someone that much.”</p><p>They drive back in near silence, but as he approaches the manor, Dean hears himself ask, almost against his will, “So your mom passed away?”</p><p>“Yes,” Taliya says. “Why?”</p><p>Dean clears his throat, keeps his voice even. “My mom died too, when I was four. Just— figured you might want to talk about it with someone who understands.”</p><p>Taliya flinches. “Right,” she says. “Uh, I don’t really remember her all that much. She died when I was only ten or so, and my father never talks about her.” She laughs a little. “I don’t know if it’s possible for me to miss her, since I never really knew her. But I think I do.”</p><p>Dean closes his eyes for a second. “I get it,” he says softly. “Like you can’t know how much of what you love about her is just an idea, something you never saw for yourself.”</p><p>Taliya sighs. “I needed a mother,” she says, “when I was a kid. And I didn’t stop needing one when she died. It was just an empty space, one that never got filled. And I don’t know, maybe I loved the emptiness because I couldn’t have loved her.”</p><p>Dean’s nearly at the manor, now, but he doesn’t want to stop talking to Taliya about this. He feels this pull, towards her, and he doesn’t want to pull away. </p><p>He slows the car down. “What happened to her?”</p><p>“She got sick, very quickly,” Taliya explains. “It was... I watched her fade away. I stayed by her side until the very end, until she stopped breathing. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.”</p><p>Dean looks over at her. She’s still very calm, her voice perfectly even, but she’s turned her head away from him, like she’s hiding her expression. Dean’s been through this, he knows how people hide themselves, how they seem calmer than they are. Sam will clench his jaw, his father will slip into the language of anger. Everyone has a tell. </p><p>It seems that Taliya’s tell is that her hands shake. Dean pauses, and then says, “I'm sorry.”</p><p>She turns her head back towards him, manages a small smile. “I'm sorry too,” she replies, her voice low and scratchy, like she’s holding back tears. “For everything that happened to you after your mom died. You deserve better.”</p><p>Dean doesn’t want to think about how she knows that about him. Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because he turns into the manor and stops the car. </p><p>He’s about to get out and help Taliya up when she grabs his wrist, with surprising strength, and pulls him closer.</p><p>“Wait.” she says, voice low, haunting. Dean waits. “When I die, don’t forget me. Come back here, look after Harry.”</p><p>Dean looks down at where her hand grips his arm. “How am I supposed to know when you die?” he asks, ashamed of how his voice shakes. </p><p>“October twentieth,” she says. “Harry’s gonna be all alone. I can’t let that happen to him.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I will.”</p><p>She deflates after that, lets go of his arm and opens the car door. Her fingernails left crescent imprints on Dean’s forearm, and he runs his finger over one of the indents. </p><p>“Thank you,” she says softly, and leaves.</p><p>-</p><p>He sees her again, later that day. She’s using a long white cane, carrying a small bag in her free hand, walking around on the main street. Her hair is out of its braids, and she’s gotten rid of the kerchief. Dean is walking back to his motel. She seems to hear him, cause she turns her face up.</p><p>“Excuse me,” she says, her voice still scratchy. Low. Somehow Dean’s gotten used to it, started to actually <em> like </em> the roughness of her voice. It’s not a sound of anger to him, more a sign of familiarity. It sounds, to him, like she’s dropping some of the pretense she started out with.</p><p>“Hey,” he replies, and then clarifies, “it’s Dean.”</p><p>“Oh,” she says, and cranes her neck. “Hey, Dean. Can you do me a favor, help me cross the street?”</p><p>“Sure.” She wraps her hand around his arm again, leans into him for support. He waits for a break in the slow traffic and guides her across. </p><p>“Thanks,” she says softly, “I've never been good crossing the street alone.”</p><p>Dean laughs a bit. “Don’t you know you’re not going to get hit by a car?” Taliya doesn’t let go of his arm, and he keeps walking with her, half-distracted by the click of her cane against the sidewalk. </p><p>She laughs too, a soft musical sound. “Yeah,” she concedes, “doesn’t stop me from being scared, for some reason.” They’re silent, as they walk up the hill that leads to the mansion. It’s a long walk. </p><p>After a few minutes, Dean says, “what were you doing down in town? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave.”</p><p>She smiles and gestures to her bag. “Buying some yarn,” she says.</p><p>“You knit?” Dean asks, trying to hide his surprise. Taliya is many things, but he wouldn’t have taken her for someone who <em> knits </em>. There’s something too solid about her, too real, for something frivolous like knitting.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, a smile coloring her words, “it’s really one of the few things I can do, now. I used to read a lot, you see. And now—” she gestures to her eyes— “well, I can’t. Knitting’s the second best thing. It gives me a lot of time to think.”</p><p>Dean hums in agreement. “How do you choose colors?” he asks, then flinches. </p><p>She laughs. “Just because I lost my sight doesn’t mean I don’t know what colors look good together. And besides, I asked the woman who owns the store.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Dean says. “What do you make, though?”</p><p>She looks up at him. “Mainly big stuff,” she says, “I must have made Harry at least ten sweaters. And blankets, too. If you want, I can make you something.”</p><p>“Not really a knitting person,” Dean says. Taliya smiles and leans into his side. </p><p>“I figured,” she says lightly. “What’s this, a leather jacket?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean replies. Taliya squeezes his arm lightly. </p><p>“It’s nice,” she says. “Real leather, too. Are you rich?”</p><p>Dean laughs. “No,” he says, “it’s my dad’s. I’m just borrowing it.”</p><p>She nods absently. They’re almost up to the manor now, and her cane clangs against the gate. “Alright,” she says, “this is where I leave you.”</p><p>“Are you gonna be okay getting up there alone?”</p><p>She turns to face him. “Are you saying that because you’re concerned for me? Or because you want to see what happens in the scary mansion?”</p><p>“Why can’t it be both?”</p><p>She laughs a little and offers her arm. “Alright. You can take me up to my room. Just be quiet.”</p><p>He follows— or they both lead, because she’s still leaning on him, and giving directions under her breath— her up to the manor. She opens the door after a bit of searching for the handle, and Dean follows her in. </p><p>“Up the stairs,” she instructs, and Dean guides her up the huge staircase in the main entrance. It, truly, is a huge mansion. He suspects that all mansions are some degree of creepy, but this one is up there in terms of creepiness. There are old paintings, some faded with what seems like hundreds of years, based on the outfits. At the top of the staircase is one large family portrait with Lev and (what Dean assumes to be) his father. Lev is younger in this picture, probably only sixteen or seventeen. His eyes look haunted. Dean shudders and keeps walking.</p><p>Taliya takes him down a long hallway, with a few firmly closed doors.</p><p>“This is an old house, then?” he asks. She nods. </p><p>“It’s been here longer than people have,” she says plainly. </p><p>“That can’t be true.”</p><p>Taliya squeezes his arm. “Promise,” she whispers. </p><p>They meet Lev and Harry right outside of Taliya’s room. Lev is talking softly to Harry, eyes darting around. When he sees Dean his face falls. </p><p>“Taliya, why’d you bring him up here?” he asks.</p><p>Taliya looks over towards him. “I needed help getting up here. And I wanted someone with me.” Her voice gets harder, and she adds, “You didn’t have to do that, Lev,”</p><p>“Sorry,” Lev says quietly, and meets Dean’s eyes. He has to crane his neck to do it, and Dean looks down at him. </p><p>“Do you really need to intrude so much on our lives?” Lev asks, voice thin. </p><p>“I’m going,” Dean says, “just bringing Taliya safely home.”</p><p>Harry gives him a strange look, but doesn’t say anything. Dean’s used to suspicion, especially from the people he’s investigating, but Harry doesn’t look suspicious. He more looks... confused, or perhaps concerned, but he keeps staring at Dean, like he’s trying to communicate something important. </p><p>Dean looks down at the floor, avoiding Harry’s eyes, and is surprised to see that he’s wearing a skirt. It’s weird, but he doesn’t comment on it. Really, it’s none of his business what Harry wears. He’s leaving here as soon as he figures out what’s wrong with this place.  </p><p>He does a little bit of exploring before he actually leaves. There’s a strange smell hanging in the air, one he can’t place. It’s almost rusty, and it permeates every room he can get into. The walls are bare up here, but the few rooms he can get into are huge, filled with decadence. One is a full library, shelves stacked high with books. He looks around quickly, but can’t find anything supernatural in origin. He goes back to his motel disappointed.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. god grants such deaths to men, but not to us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In case you haven't noticed, this fic is actually my attempt to put in as many references to classical literature (and Anne Carson) as possible into Supernatural fanfiction. Anyway, everyone should read red doc &gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>"Where are your eyes? What is your justice? You see me gripping this frayed rope-end of pain for the last ten thousand years! Who will free me finally?"</em>
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  <p>- Anne Carson, <em>red doc &gt;</em></p>
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</blockquote><p>Dean is eating dinner at the diner in town, watching the people who walk by. It’s a small town, small enough that everyone can tell that he’s not from around here. </p><p>He tries not to meet most of their eyes. There’s a man looking at him over a cup of coffee. Dean averts his gaze. </p><p>Then Taliya’s friend, Harry, walks through the door. He meets Dean’s eyes and smiles. Dean waves him over.</p><p>When he sits down, Harry says, “so you investigate supernatural things, right?” </p><p>“Right.”</p><p>Harry nods nervously. “So say someone was in a time loop. Kept reliving the same events over and over. What... uh, what causes something like that?”</p><p>His voice is even, Dean thinks, but he keeps looking around, like he’s scared of something in here. Dean thinks about his question. Time loops could be any number of things— trickster gods, a malicious minor deity, anything really. But that’s not very helpful. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Dean admits. “So you and Lev and Taliya are all in a—”</p><p>Harry stops him. “Just me,” he says. “I'm sure Taliya’s told you she and Lev are going to die.”</p><p>“Yeah, she told me to come back and check on you,” Dean replies. </p><p>“Right,” Harry laughs. “October twentieth. Both of them are going to die. And I'm just gonna keep on living.”</p><p>Dean leans a little closer. “So you keep looping to the point when they die? When does the loop start?”</p><p>“The murder. It’s... Three months. The worst three months of my life, and I have to relive them every day.”</p><p>“You can’t stop it?” Dean asks. </p><p>Harry shakes his head. “I’ve tried everything i could think of. I warned them, I... I tried to physically stop them at one point, but they <em> keep dying </em>.” he looks straight up at Dean and continues, “but you’re different. I’ve seen them die— a hundred times, probably. I’ve never seen you.”</p><p>Dean thinks about that for a second. A hundred loops, three months each, comes out to... twenty five years. It’s almost unbearable to think about, and he looks at Harry again, a little harder, searching for evidence of the passage of time on his face. He can’t find anything, not really. </p><p>“So you want me to help?” he asks. </p><p>Harry nods. “Look,” he says, “I know it’s too much to ask. I do. But something’s <em> wrong </em> here. <em> Very </em> wrong. I mean... People don’t just have prophetic visions, right? Ghosts don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?”</p><p>Dean frowns. “Sometimes they do,” he says, “sometimes people die and they haunt other people. But the prophetic visions are strange, I guess.”</p><p>Harry buries his face in his hands. “Can you help or not?” he asks. </p><p>“I’ll see what i can do,” Dean says.</p><p>Really, though, there’s nothing he knows how to do. He goes back to the motel to do some research on time loops and ends up reading too much about Groundhog Day. No one has any ideas that Dean can make sense of. Monster hunting is a tricky business, even trickier when there’s no real monster to hunt. </p><p>He closes his laptop and tries to sleep. He has strange dreams again, distorted echoes of the nightmares of his childhood. Monsters under the bed, people with too-wide smiles. He wakes up still tired, his neck aching.</p><p>This almost never happens. Dean was raised in the shittiest of motel rooms, on the side of America’s forgotten highways. Nights spent in real beds with real sheets and pillows were few and far between, and Sam always got first dibs on the bed. Dean’s spent more nights on the floor than in a real bed. </p><p>And he’s never had any complaints from his body. Dad’s been getting up in years, and complains about his back every once in a while, but Dean’s been untouched by old age so far. His neck shouldn’t be aching after a night in a motel that, compared to some of the places he’s found himself sleeping in, is practically a five star hotel. </p><p>He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck loudly. The sound makes him flinch. When he gets up he hears three bones pop. </p><p>He decides he’s going to leave town after he eats breakfast. It’s a simple enough decision, really. He weighs the pros and cons, decides that solving this mystery isn’t gonna help anyone more than it hurts them. If Taliya <em> can </em> see the future, she and Lev will die no matter what he does. And if she can’t, then no one else dies, and they’re fine. </p><p>He packs up his spare outfit and stuffs it in the Impala before he drives over to the diner. The same man who was staring at him yesterday takes his order with a smile. </p><p>Before he walks away, Dean clears his throat. “Have you been... following me?” he asks. </p><p>The guy looks back at him, his eyes dulled by what looks like exhaustion. “Hm?”</p><p>“I saw you watching me yesterday. Are you following me?”</p><p>The guy shakes his head slowly. “No. I’m not a stalker or anything. It’s just that everyone’s talking about you. You aren’t from around here.”</p><p>“Well, i’m just passing through,” Dean says warily. “I’m sure you get visitors every once in a while.”</p><p>“No,” the guy replies. “Not since I’ve been born. No one comes in or out, really.” He looks Dean over, slowly. “Bit of a shame, really.”</p><p>Dean’s acutely aware that he’s being hit on. He realizes, much slower, that he doesn’t mind. This man’s cheekbones are soft and his lips are round and full. There’s something feminine in his face, and Dean thinks that if he were just a <em> little </em> closer to feminine he would be <em> very </em> interested. </p><p>He realizes all of a sudden where his mind is wandering, and looks at the man with a newfound suspicion. Succubi, possibly, could be hiding in male bodies. Other creatures that thrive on being desired he can’t put his finger on right now. </p><p>“Oh,” the man says suddenly, taking a step back. “Sorry! I thought... Well, I just saw you hanging around with that girl from the manor and assumed you were—” he waves his hand. </p><p>Dean frowns. “Why would hanging around with Taliya make me...” he mirrors the gesture the man made to indicate <em> gay </em>. </p><p>The man clears his throat and looks around nervously. “She’s, you know. Different. People like that tend to attract people who are... also different.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Well, then there’s no problem, I guess,” the man says irritably, and takes Dean’s menu out from under his elbows. </p><p>When his food comes, it’s a different waitress serving it. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t talk to him until he asks for the check. It seemed a few days ago that the whole town was watching him. Now no one seems to meet his eyes. He’s practically invisible. </p><p>It’s towns like these, haunted from the inside out, that Dean finds himself in more often than not. Even if he takes out one ghost, another will certainly take its place. There’s something wrong at the <em> core </em> of this town. Dean doesn’t take much stock in the idea that old burial grounds lead to hauntings in the towns they’re built on, but there’s something sinister here, something <em> rotten </em>. </p><p>He decides to talk to Taliya before he leaves, just for a little more information. Or maybe he’s a little freaked out, looking for something familiar in a life that’s been absent of constants.</p><p>He doesn’t know how to feel, knowing that Taliya has become a constant to him.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. in the back of the car as the lights go by</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I cannot stress how much I recommend y'all read Crush by Richard Siken.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <em>"Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the<br/>broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down!<br/>Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below<br/>you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be-<br/>tween these lines that suddenly don't reach to the horizon."</em>
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  <p>-Richard Siken, "You are Jeff"</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean drives aimlessly around the road leading up to the manor for a while. At some point, Taliya emerges from the door. She’s using her white cane again, wearing a long skirt and a grey knitted sweater. She looks uncomfortable, from what Dean can see.</p><p>He pulls the car up to the manor. She turns toward it. “Dean?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, “d’you want to go for a drive?”</p><p>She nods. Dean gets out to help her into the front seat and starts driving out of town. Taliya doesn’t say anything for a while. Not until he passes the town limits and steps hard on the gas. </p><p>Taliya leans forward in the seat. "So what did you want to talk to me about?”</p><p>“Just— I don’t know. This town is weird. I woke up sore today.”</p><p>She laughs. It’s still captivating for Dean, and he leans a little closer to her. "Maybe you’re getting old. It happens to all of us. Some of us faster than others.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “I can’t be getting old. There’s something wrong <em> here </em>.”</p><p>Taliya laughs again, louder. “Dean. There’s a million things wrong with this town. The ghosts, the blood in the walls of the manor, the fact that I can see the future... I could go on.”</p><p>“So you think it’s supernatural?”</p><p>“<em> No </em>,” she says. “I think you’re looking for an excuse, but you’re just getting old. And that scares you.”</p><p>“Nothing scares me.”</p><p>Taliya turns to face him. Her hair flips, and Dean catches the fruity smell of her shampoo. "That’s never been true,” she says, her voice deceptively light. "But there’s nothing wrong with being scared. It’s just a part of life.”</p><p>“What are you scared of, then?” he asks, a little angry. </p><p>She scoffs. “I'm scared of doing the wrong thing. I’m scared of ghosts. I’m scared of the future. But the thing I'm most scared of is death.”</p><p>Dean looks over to her for a second. "How are you scared of the future, if you know what’s going to happen?”</p><p>Taliya frowns. “I mean, you <em> know </em> you’re going to die at some point, but you’re still scared of it. T<span>he problem is that even though I can see the future, in every horrible detail, I can’t stop it. It’s terrifying</span>.”</p><p>“And what about death?”</p><p>Taliya props her feet up on the dash. "Who the hell <em> isn’t </em> scared of death?” After a second, she adds, “And I just... I mean I've gone more than half my life knowing the future, having this curse of knowledge about things I never wanted to know. And the one thing I never know anything about is death. It’s like a black hole, I think.”</p><p>Dean keeps driving. There’s something oh-so enticing about the way the road extends infinitely ahead of him. Taliya hums something softly, indistinct from the passenger seat. Normally Dean would put on music, try to tune out whoever’s sitting next to him. </p><p>Not with Taliya. He likes her, he realizes. Likes her enough to want to talk to her, to hear whatever she has to say. To try to place the song she’s humming. </p><p>He can’t place it, but he slows the car down a little, tries to appreciate the view a little more. Taliya reaches out and grabs his sleeve, wraps her hand around his wrist. Her hand is hot, and he turns to look at her.</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>She moves her hand a little, but doesn’t let go of him. "You should find a place for us to stop,” she says softly. Dean agrees. He’s not as worried about being compelled by her anymore, even when he doesn’t protest at her practically ordering him around.</p><p>There’s something comforting about having someone ride shotgun with him, having someone to talk to out on the lonely road. He wonders how long he could keep driving for, where this road ends. There are entire stretches, out here, where there’s nothing but forest for miles. Dean’s spent a good chunk of time in the wilderness, hunting monsters and ghosts. But there’s something comforting about the way the sun shines through the trees, the fall colors bright and strong from above.</p><p>The woods clear out, and Dean finds a little convenience store to stop in, pulls the car into the parking lot. He helps Taliya out of the car, lets her take his arm and guides her in. </p><p>“You know,” she says, her voice taking on a musical quality. It’s something in her accent, that gives her voice this lightness, this rhythm that sounds like a song. "You know, I've never been to one of these places?”</p><p>“<em> Never </em>?” Dean’s spent countless hours in convenience stores, buying snacks on the road to serve as full meals, grabbing shitty coffee to keep him awake until dawn and pocketing a few candy bars for good measure. It’s one of those places that exist everywhere, and they’re all the same. </p><p>Taliya laughs and shakes her head. “I told you, we aren’t allowed to leave the manor!”</p><p>Dean leads her into the store. "Well, there’s some chips, some—”</p><p>She stops him. “I don’t want anything,” she says. "Besides, I don’t have any money.”</p><p>“I can pay,” Dean reassures her, but she shakes her head.</p><p>“I'm not going to make you pay for something I don’t need,” she says, in a firm tone that makes it clear she won’t tolerate any arguments. </p><p>Dean buys a bag of chips for later and slips a few candy bars into his jacket pocket. The cashier sees him, definitely, but just rolls his eyes. </p><p>Taliya thanks the cashier and lets Dean guide her out. They get back in the car and Dean hands her a candy bar. </p><p>She frowns. "Come on, Dean,” she protests, but there’s no edge behind it. After a few seconds, she opens it and takes a bite. </p><p>“This,” she says, “I haven’t had this either.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head. "You’ve missed out on so much,” he tells her. She laughs at that, but then sobers up.</p><p>“So have you,” she says softly. Dean looks over at her but doesn’t reply. </p><p>“I'm gonna bring you back,” he tells her, a weight heavy in his chest, “and then I'm going to leave.”</p><p>She tilts her head. "But you’ll come back? October twentieth?” Her voice is lower now, colored with a hint of panic.</p><p>“Yes,” Dean promises easily. “I will, I'll come back.”</p><p>Taliya sighs in relief. "Alright,” she says, “we can go back.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. there goes antigone to be buried alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Honestly I don't know why this chapter is three times longer than all the other ones. Heed the trigger warnings, etc. <br/>if you think you see a typo no you didn't . everything is intentional . nothing is real .</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <p>
    <em>
      <span>"Ida is a verbal word for the way you see inside your mind / no shit / that's the gist / so look at me Ida what do you see inside your mind / see a hole right through the middle of</span>
      <span> you</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>They do not talk more that day."</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>- Anne Carson, <em>red doc &gt;</em></span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Dean drives slower, on the way back. Taliya puts her feet back up on the dash. Dean doesn’t tell her not to, just keeps his eyes on the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drive through a small town, barely anything except a few houses on the same road and a small store. Dean shudders. He’s seen more ghosts in towns like that than in every city in america. Taliya turns her head over toward him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks over at her, tries to catch her eyes for a second. Her hair is almost white now, and it haloes her head a little, makes her look ethereal. Her eyes, too, are clouded over, and their dark color is almost obscured. There’s something strange about it, almost unsettling. Dean wonders about what an angel would look like, cloaked in white as they are meant to be. If Taliya looks like an angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. "Yes. You don’t have to ask that, though, just ask me whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Why... why did you do it? why did you kill him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. "He was a monster,” she says, her voice a bit muffled. "I mean— not like the things you hunt, he was worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scoffs. "Humans can’t be worse than monsters,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya shakes her head. "They </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says. "All of us are. See, no one loves a monster, and a monster doesn’t love anything. But a </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>— no matter how much evil a person does, there’s always something they love. And there’s almost always someone that loves them. So you can never condemn them entirely. That’s more evil than a monster can ever be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sighs. "But monsters kill indiscriminately,” he says, “they just </span>
  <em>
    <span>take</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>take</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A person, at least, doesn’t do that. Everyone contributes something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya gets a little more animated, sits up in her seat and swings her feet off the dash. "But!” she says, “That’s exactly what makes them so evil! See, if you see a monster, you can say, without any grey areas, that it’s evil. No question about it. But no matter how many people a person kills, no matter how much pain they cause, you can never truly call them evil. Because there’s a sliver of good in there, no matter how far under it’s buried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what about monsters that feel things?” Dean says, leaning forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya tosses her hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ethereal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean thinks again, and thinks of angels with a thousand eyes. "Well, if you can feel something, you’re not a monster,” she says. "A... a demon or a ghost that still feels pain, that means that it can still feel empathy. And then it’s basically a person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scoffs. "That’s not true. Monsters are monsters and people are people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya turns her head to him. "It’s never that simple,” she says. "People murder and mutilate, and some monsters want to be good. We live in a grey area.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean keeps his eyes on the road. "I don’t know,” he says, “I really don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya laughs lightly beside him. "Alright,” she says, “anyway. Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually quite smart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughs. "Come on,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she protests, “I really mean it. You know I do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you’re wrong, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches out, finds his wrist again, and wraps her hand around it. "I’m not,” she says, “Dean. Just because you’re not book smart doesn’t mean that you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re fun to argue with, and that’s all that matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughs again. "Is that how you choose your friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is,” she replies. She closes her eyes and smiles. "I love my friends very much,” she says softly. "I hope I can count you among them, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looks over at her. She looks at peace, the sunlight catching her face, making her features look soft and warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can,” he tells her. She smiles wider, squeezes Dean’s wrist a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a soft silence that falls over them, and Taliya relaxes in her seat. After a few minutes they coast into town, and Taliya sits up, a hint of fear crossing her face. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, can you stop at your motel?” she asks. Dean hesitates for a second, but pulls into the motel anyway. Much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusts </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taliya. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trails behind him, keeping a light grip on the sleeve of his jacket as he unlocks the door and lets her in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she says, her voice low and even. Dean puts his hand on the small of her back, guides her inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands still in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. There’s something pained in her expression, and Dean wonders if he did something to cause it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why did you need to come here?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya turns around so she’s facing him. "I needed to... Be somewhere that’s not up in the manor. I needed a place. Just for a little while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For how long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a few minutes,” she says softly. "Up in the manor, did you notice something wrong, something in the air?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a weird smell, but I don’t know—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blood,” she says. "It’s blood. They washed it out, but they can’t get rid of the smell. I just have to get away from it for a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looks over at her. She’s facing the floor, eyes downturned. "Why can’t they wash it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya taps her foot on the floor. "I don’t know,” she says softly. "I think Harry does, but she won’t tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>she closes her eyes. "I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she replies, her voice getting sharp. "And I can’t ask him because I'm scared he’ll lie, and then I'm even more scared that he’ll tell the truth. And, I don’t know, maybe he’ll ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> something I don’t want to answer, except I'll have to answer because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. Dean watches her carefully, watches every tiny move she makes. She rocks back and forth on her feet, pulling at the fabric of her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few long moments, she says, “Okay. You can take me back to the manor now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean leans back. "Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up towards him. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says, her voice clipped. It’s a little disorienting, how quickly her voice changes, gets sharper. Her face gets more drawn too, and Dean wonders again about monsters. But the shift is gone as soon as it came, and her face gets softer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must be tired, he thinks, and instinctually wonders if she’s sleeping enough, starts thinking of ways he can make her feel at least marginally better— if he could let her lay down for a few minutes, order some hot tea from the diner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realizes after a moment that he’s slipped back, easily, into the mannerisms of a big brother. Next he’ll be putting on a pot of water and making mac and cheese for her. It’s stupid, and he feels a little ashamed of it. But she’s about the same age as Sam, and she does remind him a little of Sam, in a weird word-association kind of way. He feels responsible for her, wants to look after her, keep her </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean reaches out, takes her arm, and pulls her close. There’s a moment where everything gets smaller except what’s in his hands, where Taliya trips and half-falls into Dean’s chest. He supports her, helps her up, but now she’s leaning on him for support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost against his will, Dean registers how thin she is. All her clothes make her look softer, a little rounder. But now that half her body is pressed up against his, he can feel the bones of her arm, sharp even through her sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taliya,” he says softly. She turns her head, and Dean is hit again with the fruity smell of her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to get some real food? before you go back up to the manor?” He shifts a little so that her body isn’t pressed up against him, but keeps his hold on her arm. She leans on him, rests her head on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” she says immediately, but then continues, “But I don’t want to inconvenience you. If you’re just doing this cause you’re scared I don’t eat enough—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Dean says, trying to sound innocent. Taliya clicks her tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Dean,” she chides him, “you don’t have to worry about me! I eat fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looks down at her. "You just... I don’t know, I want you to be okay. Come on, let me buy you dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya sighs. "Alright,” she concedes. "But this is the last thing you do for me. If you want to look after someone, look after your little brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean helps her out the door and into the car. "I, uh, can’t. Look out for my brother, that is. He left, went off to college in California.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya sighs. "That’s a shame.” After a second, she asks, “Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Dean says. “Why, do you know something about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“yes.” Taliya replies. "You’re going to see him again. He’s gonna need a big brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean starts the car and pulls out into the road. "But is he okay </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Is he— should I be worried about him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s okay now,” Taliya says evenly. "But something bad </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to happen to him. You can’t stop it, though. All you can do is be there for him when he needs you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The diner is right down the road, barely a minute’s drive. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if we kept driving</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean wants to ask, wants to speed down this road and take Taliya away from death and prophecy and everything that awaits her. And to take himself away, too, from hunting, from the lifestyle that eats away at his remaining life like a candle burning at both ends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pulls into the diner’s parking lot, stopping that train of thought before it runs away with itself, and helps Taliya out of the car. He guides her again, lets her lean on him. It makes him feel strange, to support her so much, to have her be so reliant on his help. He wonders if she feels the same way. If needing someone feels as unfamiliar as being needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been years since anyone leaned on him like this. Of course, old habits die hard, and it’s still like second nature to him, to hold the door open for her, to put his arm around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes her to the booth closest to the door, an old habit. Paranoia can be helpful, for people like him. Probably for people like Taliya, too. He lets her take the side closer to the door, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young woman comes to give them water and take their orders. Dean orders a burger again, out of habit. Familiarity, to him, is comforting. Taliya frowns, and turns to Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should I get?” she asks softly. It’s strange, to hear her asking for help. Dean isn’t used to this— the people he hunts with are stubborn enough that they’ll refuse to ask for help even if they’re bleeding out in the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean skims the menu. "Uh, same thing as me? Or maybe a sandwich?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya shakes her head. "I’ll have a chicken salad,” she tells the waitress, who nods and walks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya leans back in her seat, puts her feet up on Dean’s side of the booth. "So,” she says, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "Why don’t you want to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s smart, Dean has to admit. He thinks, again, that Sam would probably like talking to her. He thinks, briefly, about calling Sam, if just to tell him about Taliya, ask his opinion. But Sam made his decision, he chose a normal life. And Taliya doesn’t have a place in a normal life. Neither, Dean thinks dully, does he.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Dean asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya shakes her head. "Come on, Dean,” she says, “you act like you’re leaving one minute, then you’re asking me to get dinner with you. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t,” Dean replies. But it’s a flimsy lie and they both know it. And when he thinks about it, there’s only one thing here he likes. "Okay,” he continues, “okay, maybe I don’t want to leave. Just— I'm worried about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we both know what’s going to happen to me,” Taliya says smoothly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t matter to me!” Dean says. "I mean— I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you’re going to die. And that’s horrible and I wish you weren’t. But just because you’re dying in a month doesn’t mean your last days have to be miserable. I want you to be happy, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence. Taliya takes a sip of water and sighs deeply. Her eyes are dull, but Dean thinks he can see a hint of sadness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Taliya says, “I murdered a man in cold blood. I watched him bleed out, watched him stop breathing. Why do you think I deserve to be happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is steady. Firm. It’s strange, for someone so clearly distressed to sound so calm. She takes another sip of her water and waits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean doesn’t know how to answer her. It’s almost impossible to explain the kinship he feels with her, the way that he feels like he has to protect her. He still feels an irresistible rush of protectiveness toward her, one that’s deeper than anything he’s ever felt for someone outside of his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...” he starts. "Everyone deserves to be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>she leans in, reaches out and grabs Dean’s shoulder, pulls him closer too, so they’re barely inches apart. "Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though?” she demands. "How can you look at someone who killed a man and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>deserve to be happy, and not some holy man or, at the very least, someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>innocent</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean tries to sit back, but Taliya’s stronger than she appears, and she’s got a firm hold on him. After a moment’s deliberation, he says, “Because you aren’t a bad person. You did it out of love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. "No, that’s not it. There’s something more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sighs. "Because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. Because I think you’re a lot like me, and if you can’t be happy then that means—” He can’t finish the sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya lets go of his shoulder. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says softly. "Right.” She sits back down, and her shoulders slump. There’s another few moments of silence that stretch out between them, and the waitress comes back with their food. Taliya thanks her quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s about to start eating when Taliya sighs and says, “I won’t be happy, you know. And— I don’t think you ever will be either. I mean, there’s always fleeting moments of happiness, but you have a profound dissatisfaction with everything around you. And that’s a recipe for unhappiness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is even, and she holds out her hand, palm up, on the table. Dean takes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continues, “But there’s still hope. You have a future. I don’t.” She smiles a little. "You just have to find that future. You have to find whatever’s out there that can fill that hole in your chest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean squeezes her hand. "What could be big enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she says, then adds, “but I think it’s love. Whether that’s romantic love or friendship or even familial love, I think that love can...” she trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean supplies, “Love can do anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs softly. "No. Love can change people, though. It can save people.” She closes her eyes and leans back, still holding onto Dean’s hand. "Maybe it can save you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can it save you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets go of Dean, closes her eyes. "No. Nothing can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another silence. Taliya doesn’t seem to mind it, just leans back, rests her head on the back of the booth, turns her face towards the ceiling. Dean feels a little uncomfortable, a little on edge. He’s supposed to comfort her, he thinks, that’s the way the script goes. The problem is that he doesn’t know what to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to tell her that it’ll all be okay, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> be okay, but he believes too much in her prophesy now to go against it. Which means that she’s right, and that he can’t help her at all. There’s something in his chest about that, something heavy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it isn’t right, it isn’t fair, that he’s found a place, he’s found someone he feels normal around, and he’s going to lose it. He’s never had anything to keep, not really. Everyone leaves, they all find better places to be, better things to do than hunt monsters and fight their way into an early grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not Dean. Not Taliya. They’re both stuck in this life, both bound to their futures, for better or for worse. He can’t bear the idea that anyone’s beyond saving, but more than that, he can’t bear the idea that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> beyond saving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taliya,” he says quietly. He hears himself as though from the end of a long tunnel, and it’s strange to him, almost alien, how thin his voice is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns her head to the side, like she’s avoiding his gaze. Which— of course, she can’t see, but it feels the same. Like how, as a child, Sam would avert his eyes when he did something especially malicious, as if not looking at the consequences would somehow make them stop existing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if it’s muscle memory for her. If there’s a part of her, buried under who she is now, that still reacts the same way, that basic gesture of shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clears her throat. "You have to leave,” she says. "There’s nothing here, just a town full of murderers and ghosts and people with no future. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you wanted me to come back,” Dean says, still hearing himself as if from a distance. Taliya covers her face with her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not going to ask that of you,” she says, her voice muffled. Dean thinks he can hear a hint of tears, her voice almost breaking. It doesn’t, and she doesn’t cry. "I mean— maybe Harry needs you, but I can’t ask you to come back here. This place, it’s haunted. And it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the ghost, it’s everything. This town is sick, Dean, and you’re not gonna make it any better by staying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I can help,” Dean insists. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Taliya. It’s my job. I fix places like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya shakes her head. "No,” she says thoughtfully, as if she’s just realized something. "No, you don’t. You... You come in, and you see a ghost, and you get rid of the ghost. You don’t ever ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ghosts don’t come out of nowhere. But you don’t care about that, you just want to get rid of the symptoms. There’s always a disease, festering under there. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> it fester, you let it </span>
  <em>
    <span>rot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is sharp, but still cut through with that heavy sadness, like she’s on the verge of tears. Dean doesn’t know what to say to her. Because, when it comes down to it, she’s right. But there’s still this heavy part of him that wants, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help her, needs to fix whatever’s so wrong here that whatever has power here has condemned her to death without trial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he can’t, which hurts even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taliya, I'm sorry,” he says, “I want to help, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she replies, her voice finally breaking. "But you have to find out what to do with that on your own. You have to let me die in peace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean flinches. He doesn’t remember the last time he heard someone talk so honestly about death, especially their own. Taliya, he thinks, is an enigma. A mystery he will never get the chance to solve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she’s right, he realizes. Death is so large, so heavy and looming. Dean looks death in the eye every time he goes on a hunt, but it always blinks first. Death, for Taliya, won’t blink, won’t turn away. He owes it to her to give her whatever she needs to handle it, and if what she needs is his absence, then he’ll give it to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>he closes his eyes. "Alright,” he says. "Okay. Let me take you back home, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya wraps her hand around his wrist. "Thank you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is, by the way, the first chapter I wrote after I'd started my rewatch. It's surprisingly... kinda relevant to some of the Themes. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. There's one chapter left, then a (much too long) epilogue, then this story is done.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. don't remember evil against me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>"He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand. He was dead anyway, a ghost. I'm surprised I saw his hand at all. All this was prepared for me. All this was set in motion long ago. I live in someone else's future. I stayed as long as I could, he said. Now look at the moon."</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Richard Siken, "The Worm King's Lullaby"<br/></span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>They’re silent, on the drive up to the manor. Taliya folds her cane up, and sits with her hands folded in her lap. When Dean looks over at her, briefly, for a reason he’s not quite sure of, there’s a tear running down her cheek. He looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls into the driveway and turns the car off. Taliya turns towards him. "Can you walk me up?” she asks. Her voice is still thin, quiet. Dean wouldn’t call her fragile (because she isn’t), but there’s something in the way she stands up, folds in on herself a little, as Dean gets out of the car. It makes him feel that heavy pull towards her, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to protect her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t act on it, only offers his arm for support. Taliya takes it, and Dean helps her into the mansion and up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is the last time I'll ever see you?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Taliya says. “I'm sorry, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does sound sorry, Dean thinks— her voice is low and her head is bowed a little, like she’s ashamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flinches. There’s something painful in it, in the idea that he’ll never see her again, never see her breathing and walking and </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you think there are things we haven’t said to each other? That we still need to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice gets sharper, clearer, like she’s made up her mind. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But there’s never going to be enough time. We have a minute left together. I have a month. And you— you’ve got a clock running down too. Someday you’ll run out of time for real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stops walking. Taliya stops too, laces her fingers through his. "Please,” she says, “don’t make this last longer than it has to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I—” Dean starts, but then realizes that he doesn’t know what he wants to say to her. “I don’t want you to die. And I know—” he says, interrupting her protests, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I can’t change the future. But I care about you and I don’t want you to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya tightens her grip on his arm. “I don’t want to die either,” she says, her voice far too steady. "But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Dean says. "But I don’t think I've ever felt this way about anyone. And it’s not fair that you’re going to die and I'm not going to save you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taliya turns her head up to face Dean. Her eyes are sparkling with tears. She laughs a little, lightly. "You’re telling the truth,” she says, her eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wraps her arms around Dean. After he gets over his shock, Dean pulls her closer, lets her rest her head on his chest for a minute. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, as gently as he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she pulls away, there are tears running down her cheek. "You can leave me here,” she says, her voice still so even. A smile crosses her face and fades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean turns around to go. He gets a few steps away before Taliya calls out, “Dean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is distant, but Dean hears her clear as day. “If there’s anything after this, if we end up in the same place, I'll wait for you. For as long as it takes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean closes his eyes for a moment, lets the full weight of her words hit him before he walks back down the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets to the bottom he looks up, for one last glimpse of Taliya. She looks radiant, from where he is, her soft brown skin glowing in the candlelight, her grey-white hair framing her in an ethereal light. She’s crying, but she’s smiling too, and she almost looks peaceful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looks away before it fades. </span>
</p>
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